


Just a Minute, a Minute More

by QueSeraAwesome



Series: Domestic AU [8]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Asexual Maine, Couch Cuddles, Demisexual Wash, Domestic Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 04:21:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1884960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueSeraAwesome/pseuds/QueSeraAwesome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maine and Wash take a moment for themselves. Against protest of the nine-year-old variety.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Minute, a Minute More

**Author's Note:**

> This story is inspired by a beautiful drawing by Papanorth at http://papanorth.tumblr.com/post/88705138481  
> Set about four years after Follow You Home

“Papa Wash,” a high-pitched voice demands. “Get _up_.”

Wash turns his head away from the voice and tries to burrow closer into Maine’s chest. It’s not going to work. He’s already lying on top of the guy, head pillowed by one still-impressive pectoral. It’s also not going to work because that tone in his daughter’s voice means she really isn’t going to give up without a fight. And he was really enjoying this nap.

“Get up,” Simra repeats, tone passing from impatient (annoyed but tolerating you) to outpatient (annoyed, you’re gonna get it now).

“Noooo,” Wash moans. “Shhh.”

She makes an affronted noise, and Wash has to quell his laughter, because no, she will not react well to that.

He’s _really_ comfortable. The couch is in no way at all big enough for the two of them (That is their next mission: Buy bigger couch) and Maine had to crook his legs a weird way to avoid most of him below his knees from just hanging over the side. Maine has an arm wrapped around him, one large palm resting on his back, the heat seeping comfortingly through Wash’s shirt. Maine isn’t wearing one. Wash’s really comfortable, has been comfortable and drowsing for about two hours, but now his daughter is home and is intent on getting his attention.

She hasn’t graduated from vocal protestations to poking yet, though, so he best acknowledge her. She’s got sharp fingers.

Wash turns to look at Simra. She hasn’t changed out of her dance gear yet, fists balled on her hips, expression screwed up in nine-year-old annoyance . He smiles, because it’s easier than trying not to.

“’Morning,” he says, just to make her frown harder.

“Papa Wash,” Simra repeats.That name was cute at one point. Right now it sounds more like sounds than words, a sonic expression of her displeasure. “It is five o’clock in the afternoon.”

Today is Thursday. On Thursdays Simra has dance, and this week is one of the other kid’s mom’s turn to drive all the girls home. Nya’s at her part time job at the tattoo parlor until 5:30, and Kellan’s probably knocking around somewhere in the house. He’s been a little moodier lately. Wash’s been a little concerned about it, 13 is too early for their sweet son to turn into a hermit they never see. He’s ninety-five percent sure he heard the door open at one point after 3pm, and had greeted Kellan as he passed to his room.

Today, in a rare day, no one needed either of them to do anything, take anyone anywhere, no chores to be done, errands to be completed or repairs to be made, etc. Actual, honest to god, free time. Maine had pulled Wash down to drape across him, grunted, “Nap,” and Wash hadn’t argued. They don’t often have time to just lie around together much anymore, what with the kids going a thousand directions at once, although it’s been better since Maine changed jobs.

Speaking of Maine, the bastard is still playing possum, even if he’s doing it poorly. There’s the slightest uptick at the curve of his mouth that’s giving him away.

“Well?” Simra demands. “Are you going to do it?”

“Can’t you see,” Wash says, tone mild, “that your father is sleeping?”

“He’s totally awake,” Simra says. “I can see him smiling!”

There’s a sub-vocal vibration of laughter under Wash’s ear.

“I meant _me_ ,” Wash says.

“Well, you’re awake _now_ ,” Simra says. “Get up.”

“Why?”

“ _Papa Wash._ ”

“ _Simra_.”

“You don’t _need_ sleep.”

“You don’t know that,” Wash teases, dropping his head back onto Maine’s chest. “Maybe I have a nap-deficit. I’ve lost a lot of sleep over the years, maybe I need to get it back. I was a Marine, you know, that happens to Marines.”

He can practically hear her rolling her eyes at him. Maine laughs silently underneath him again.

“No one believes you’re still asleep,” Wash tells him.

Maine cracks an eye open at him. Closes it. _Yeah, but she’s not yelling at **me** yet._

“I’m going to sit on you,” Simra threatens.

“That’ll make it harder for me to get up, won’t it?”

Simra crosses her arms at him. She’s going to try pouting next, despite the fact that never works on him.

“You’re being mean.”

“No, I’m not,” Wash replies, gently. “I’m just not doing what you want right now.”

But her voice has taken on that slight whining edge that means no fun for anyone in the near future if something isn’t done. Wash relents.

“Why is it so urgent that I get up right now?” Wash asks.

“I’m _hungry_.”

“Dinner’s in the crockpot,” Wash tells her. “It won’t be ready until your sister gets home. If you need a snack, there’s fruit in the kitchen.”

And just like that, concern quelled, she deflates.

“Are there peaches?” she asks.

“Yes.”

Simra flounces off towards the kitchen. Maine waits until she’s gone before opening his eyes.

“Thanks for the help,” Wash grouses good naturedly. Maine shrugs a reply. “Were you awake earlier? Kellan’s home, right?”

“Yes,” Maine says. “Don’t worry.”

“Not worrying.”

Wash sighs and makes to get up. Maine’s hand tightens around his back for just a second, an impulsive movement before he relaxes again.

"Stay," he says. "Five more minutes."

Wash sinks back down. He gives Maine a long look, but Maine’s got his eyes closed again, so he doesn’t return it. He’s always been good at reading what Maine meant, without him saying much, or sometimes anything at all.

Wash is comfortable. The house is quiet around them, and the people in it are quiet as well. A tap turns on in the kitchen and then turns off again. Probably Simra washing her peach. Later, Nya will get home and dinner will be had, and things will get loud again. Nya always has music on these days and is full of stories about the tattoo parlor, and homework will be done and helped with, Simra will probably insist on showing/telling them what she learned in dance today, even if it was just that the girl next to her in line has a big brother in college and also is a fan of sweet potatoes with marshmallows. If they’re lucky, Kellan will tell them about his day and talk seriously with Maine about the garden, and if they’re really lucky maybe he’ll join Wash on the porch just to hang out.The house will be loud again soon, but not yet.

Right now, it’s just quiet, and it’s just him and Maine lying together on the couch.There’s a tiny bit of stubble growing in under Maine’s chin where he forgot to shave. When Maine does open his eyes, they fall sleepy and pleased on Wash’s face.

Wash hears what he means, even if he doesn’t say anything.

"Nah," Wash says. " _Ten_ more minutes.”


End file.
